


Why you should never cut your fingernails in the kitchen

by JTJonah



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: M/M, Other, and mooore, disgusting romance fucking look at them, embarrassing epithets, excessive use of CAPS LOCK, some tentacle action, swiving, weird spirit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTJonah/pseuds/JTJonah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Jabor and Faquarl are discussing ways to ruin Lovelace (as per usual) and then - you know what, we all know what you came here for, they swive okay they swive and that's all we're here for, I hope you're all goddamned happy with the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why you should never cut your fingernails in the kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for the swive came from otherworldviolet, in their fic Hold Your Colour.
> 
> [Swive: the blending of two or more spirits for fun and profit. Only advisable to attempt with a spirit of both a similar level and a strong force of personality.]
> 
> You can blame them, and also go read their stuff.
> 
> I'd also like to thank Fado and Choko for reading this and contributing in part to the embarrassing epithets, among other things.

“SO WHAT DID YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT SO BADLY-”

“Not so _loud_ , Jabor. Hold on, let me make sure we won’t be heard.”

“WHO’S GOING TO HEAR, THE TRILOIDS? THEY’RE NOT THAT SMART, YOU KNOW.”

“Jabor, you beautiful, confused sunflower. You literally have no idea how humorous that sounds coming out of you…anyhow, right, that should do it.”

A bulb of silence had been erected around the perimeter of Lovelace’s kitchen. Lovelace himself had driven off long ago with that insipid doe eyed girl, which meant Faquarl and Jabor were alone. Well, Faquarl, Jabor, and the triloids stationed outside. The triloids didn’t really count though. Faquarl however had already pulled the curtains over the windows just in case. He was now leaning against the side of the countertop with the sink, paring his nails with a meat cleaver that he was particularly fond of. He flicked each nail sliver expertly into the fireplace nearby, as Jabor chose to sit scowling in one of the chairs at the table in front.

“I STILL DON’T SEE WHY THAT WAS NECESSARY.”

“Jabor, you don’t exactly have what most would consider an indoor voice.”

“I’M NOT THAT LOUD.”

“We got a phone call complaining last time. The caller lives ten blocks away.”

“NOBODY EVEN CARES ABOUT HIM.”

"While it is indeed true that this particular sorry excuse for a neighbor deserves a slow, painful death until he can hear nothing but his own screams, it is necessary that -”

“SO WHAT DID YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT AGAIN?”

“Ah yes, I almost lost myself there.” Faquarl gave a cough into his fist. There was an almost imperceptible hint of embarrassment. Almost.

“You remember that very cruel and stringent after-death clause that was included so kindly in my summoning?”

“THE OFSHORE SAFE, RIGHT?”

“Yes, that would be the one.” The next nail sliver shot into the fireplace with a tad more ferocity than the last. “The mercenary is now well aware of its location. This may work as a backup plan, if anything should fail.”

Jabor stared at him for a few seconds.

“THAT IS A VERY WEAK BACKUP PLAN.”

“Well it’s the best I could come up with, alright? He knows of me and my talents, I wouldn’t put the idea past him in the event of failure. It never hurts to have all your bases covered.”

“WHY DON’T I JUST SNEAK OUT AND TAKE CARE OF IT MYSELF?”

“You know very well you have a clause in your contract that safeguards against that. We literally spent almost all of last time going over the details.”

“...WELL MAYBE I COULD-”

“Jabor, you truly are a magnificent wellspring of brilliance, but I’d rather you didn’t try whatever it is you’re thinking of trying. It is really not worth it.”

Hearing that, Jabor’s scowl deepened.

“WOULD YOU STOP THAT?”

“Stop what?” Faquarl paused in playing with his knife, giving Jabor a look.

“THAT THING YOU DO. STOP THAT. IT’S ANNOYING.”

“Jabor, you sweet smelling coffee grinder. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“THERE IT IS, YOU DID IT AGAIN!” Jabor was now pointing accusatorily at Faquarl, who was keeping nothing if not a straight face. “WHY DO YOU EVEN DO THAT?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“YES YOU DO.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“I AM PRETTY SURE THAT YOU DO.”

“As fascinating as this line of questioning truly is, I’m afraid we’re really getting a bit off topic here.”

Jabor continued to give him a glowering look, his body tensed, and his teeth gritted shut. Noting a lack of embarrassing epithets, he finally let his shoulders drop, and simply rolled his eyes.

“…RIGHT.”

“Okay then. While I concede that you do have the unstoppable force of a large runaway freight train careening off the tracks into a crowd of horrified screaming victims below-”

“ALRIGHT, THAT’S IT,” Jabor shouted as he shot up from his chair, causing it to smash unceremoniously to the floor. Pushing against the table violently, he started to stomp towards the door in an enraged huff.

“Oh come now Jabor, don’t be like this.”

“NOPE. I’M FUCKING DONE.”

“Jabor, you’re acting ridiculous right now.”

“THIS IS WHERE I DRAW THE LINE.”

“Jabor-”

“YOU’VE GOT TO DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE.”

“Jabor, you really are an elegant, yet wonderful ray of joy.” Faquarl had by now set the butcher knife down, unable to keep his face straight anymore. Jabor stopped in his tracks, a fist still held in midair, as if he had been planning to punch his way through the kitchen door.

“…YOU’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE, AREN’T YOU?”

“Why, whatever could you possibly mean, my unstoppable yet glamorous puppy?”

“FAQUARL.”

“My mold-encrusted wedding cake.”

“FAQUARL.”

“My gorgeous naïve tissue box.” At this point Faquarl let out an undignified snort. Jabor did not look as if he found any of this quite as funny.

“IF THIS IS ALL YOU WERE PLANNING ON TALKING ABOUT I’M NOT FUCKING LAUGHING RIGHT NOW.”

“Well you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“MAYBE BECAUSE I’M HOPING THIS CONVERSATION WILL ACTUALLY LEAD TO SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE.”

“Alright, alright! Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Faquarl put his hands up theatrically in the air, pulling his face back in check. Though unconvinced, Jabor still walked slowly back towards the center of the room. The kitchen table had somehow remained intact, and stood still between them.

“…YOU’VE BEEN ACTING WEIRD LATELY.” His arms were now crossed in front of his chest, as he looked at Faquarl in front of him. Faquarl for his part, had stopped smiling. His chef guise looked more tired than usual.

“I suppose I’ve been running out of ideas. Good, workable ideas anyway. Blast him, keeping me here all the time…”

“SORRY.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Faquarl looked back at Jabor with an eyebrow raised.

“HE PROBABLY WOULD HAVE LIGHTENED UP, IF I CAUGHT THAT ASSHOLE LAST TIME.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Also, let’s not talk about that.”

“MY DETONATION HIT YOU RIGHT IN THE STOMACH.”

“That wasn’t your fault, for the _last time!_ ” Faquarl snapped. “Stop bringing it up.”

“WELL, FINE.” Jabor sat himself down on the second chair in the room unceremoniously, sounding more than a bit hurt.

“Oh _please_ don’t be like that,” Faquarl groaned.

“LIKE WHAT?”

“You’re sulking.”

“I DO NOT SULK.”

“Are you sure?”

“VERY SURE.”

“Because you’re doing it right now.”

“I AM NOT SULKING!”

“Jabor, you beautiful misunderstood dolphin.” There was a brief pause.

“…DOLPHIN? REALLY?”

“I’m running out of ideas. Also, you drew the line at dolphins, and not mold-encrusted wedding cakes?”

“AT LEAST THAT ONE WAS INNOVATIVE.”

“Right,” Faquarl sighed. Getting up, he pulled a chair over next to Jabor, and sat down. He brought his meat cleaver along with him, and held it casually in his lap, as if inspecting it. Jabor for his part merely flinched in annoyance.

“…WHAT?”

“Nothing.”

“OF COURSE.”

“You know, you can leave whenever you want.”

“I KNOW THAT.” Still, Jabor made no move towards the exit. They sat there next to each other in excruciating silence. Faquarl looked over at Jabor again questioningly. For some reason, he had his eyes trained towards the wall in front of him, as if he had just developed a new interest in mildew stains. Which he hadn’t.

Faquarl gave a cough. No answer, or even sign of acknowledgment.

“I only take fun in it out of appreciation, you know.”

Still no answer.

“Honestly though, I couldn’t have gotten stuck here with a better partner.”

“…Thanks.”

Faquarl did a double take, and stared. The answer Jabor had given him was for once, in a subdued indoor voice. This was an odd development. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the other’s arm.

Jabor did not pull away, but merely gave a grunt. Well, it was a start.

“You know, we are alone here for a while.”

Silence. He brushed a thumb lightly against the other’s skin. There was a faint shiver, but still no pull away. He interpreted this as an invitation. Brushing his fingers lightly across Jabor’s arm, he felt the now subdued hum of the other’s essence. The sensation actually felt quite nice, against his skin. Suddenly Jabor stirred, and his hand stopped. Jabor moved cautiously to grasp at his thigh, Faquarl still holding lightly onto his arm. Neither one of them made any sudden movements or loud sounds. Faquarl felt a light squeeze. He leaned his head in closer from the side, breathing lightly on the other’s neck, as he felt the squeeze around his thigh tighten even harder. A low sound started to come forth from the back of Jabor’s throat, as he felt a light kiss placed against his collar bone.

“Jabor, you beautiful, wonderful, glow cloud of the sea.”

“YOU JUST FUCKING HAD TO.”

It was at this point that Faquarl found himself knocked down to the cold kitchen floor. His chair hurled out of the way, he felt the entirety of  Jabor’s mass of essence pressed down on top of him. It must have looked very ridiculous from the outside, as an Egyptian god of death panted heavily over a plump, winded chef. It looked even worse if you could see the exact same scene played out on the seventh plane.

“Well that certainly got you riled up, didn’t it?” Having only recently regained his breath, that last line would have sounded much more suave, if Faquarl hadn’t been wheezing his way through most of it. Jabor did his best to ignore him as he was clumsily feeling him up, trying so very hard, and failing just as terribly. His fingers just kept on fumbling. This was probably due to the fact that Jabor couldn't seem to stop shaking - whether it was out of rage, arousal, or something else, he didn't know, and didn't really care, except for the fact that it was making him pant rather pathetically. And yet the hum of Jabor’s essence did feel _very_ good, and it wasn’t _that_ bad of a setup compared to others.

“We’ve only done this one other time, haven’t we?” On the seventh plane, his tentacles had already begun curling up and over Jabor’s waistline, making wet sucking noises that would have been unattractive in any other situation. The way they explored, touched, and caressed though, made Jabor’s clumsy attempts at fondling even worse. Finally managing to stop himself from shaking, the many arms around Jabor only tightened their hold, sliding their way up.

“DOES IT MATTER?”

“It’s only a question. I mean, you rarely get summoned in the first place.”

“SHUT…UP.” He let loose a piercing whine, as his claws dug into Faquarl’s essence below, eliciting a hissed response. Head craning upward, Faquarl managed to pull an arm over the back of Jabor’s neck, and brought his face up. He started planting kisses trailing upwards, allowing himself a low moan as he did. The heat emanating from the other was making him feel hazy, and he had no time to come up with a proper response.

“If I’ve been the only one, you know I would actually find that quite flattering.”

“SHUT. UP!” It was just at this moment of course, that one of the tentacles made a particularly loud suction noise. A strangled sound came out of the back of his throat yet again, though this time the sound was more like a jackal’s cry gone horribly wrong. His essence softened considerably, before he managed to recompose himself.

“What was that sound supposed to be?” Faquarl was fairly certain that by this point he was working off all of Jabor’s more vulnerable spots on each plane, bringing his own essence into thrumming resonance with the other. It felt excruciatingly pleasant from his end, and it was a wonder that he hadn’t misted up already.

“NOTHING!” Jabor bit down hard in a sudden fit of embarrassed anger, causing a loud gasp to emanate from Faquarl below, and the tentacles to react on their own violently. Jabor gave a shout, feeling the full hit.

“Look, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Faquarl panted, trying to regain hold on his focus. He could feel the thrum of Jabor’s essence, around him, above him, grabbing at him, inside of him –

Another mewling sound escaped out of Jabor yet again, and he gave a strangled cry.

“Jabor, you beautiful prince.”

“FAQUARL.”

“You handsome, bullish, mountain goat.”

“FAQUARL.”

“You phenomenally confused old soul of the deep.”

“FAQUARL, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.”

“You spectacular – AH!” He felt himself being pushed far down into the floor with a resounding crack, the tiles giving way beneath them. He didn’t even think about how they were going to cover this one up. Something cold and wonderful was arching up into his back, and something else was pushing down with a warm embrace into him from above. The writhing mass that was himself for a moment went into disarray, and he felt the entirety of Jabor’s essence suddenly pound down into him. Well, that was Jabor for you.

He thought he heard himself scream something out, though he wasn’t sure what. His essence broke.

There he was, lost in Jabor, and Jabor lost in Faquarl. It was like the Other Place, only it was anything but. There wasn’t enough chaos, wasn’t enough to lose yourself in, there wasn’t enough to make it truly feel like home, there just was never, ever, enough. But they each had the other, and for now it would have to do. This was after all, what they had been building up towards. Neither of them had quite admitted it to the other, or had even wanted to, but it was a desperate act, and in the end it had felt incredibly good…

Jabor’s essence surrounded him, as his own with no doubt did to the other. He felt Jabor’s straightforward pride, his brute simplicity and thirst for blood, the hunger and the heat, that infernal raging heat, anger at the earth, anger at his master, anger at the world, anger at himself -

**_WHY DOES HE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT HIM STRAIGHT ANYMORE -_ **

**_–_ ** _another rickety empire, even uglier than the last, how many more do I have to see, how many more do they have to make, why do they even bother, why do I even try –_

**_I’M NOT STUPID I JUST DON’T CARE, I REALLY DON’T CARE, I’VE NEVER CARED, WHY WOULD I CARE –_ **

_What if the Lovelace plan doesn’t work, what if this was all for nothing, what if I’ve failed yet again-_

**_WHY DOES HE HAVE TO MAKE ME CARE –_ **

_-Always another chance, always another contingency plan-_

**_THAT’S WHAT THEY CALL ME DOWN FOR ISN’T IT? MY STRENGTH? IT’S ALL JUST ONE BIG JOKE-_ **

_someone needs to look out for him-_

**_-I COULD ALWAYS HOLD BACK I JUST NEVER WANTED TO-_ **

_They’ll all eventually fall anyhow, even if it’s not because of me –_

**_DO I TRUST HIM? CAN I EVEN -_ **

He had to pull himself out before it was too late.

Where there was one, there were now two.

Faquarl was lying on his back, still in the small hole they had created by accident in the floor. He had reverted almost by default back into his chef’s form. Jabor now next to him was sitting up, somehow even quieter than before. Looking over, Faquarl sighed, and pulled himself back up with a groan. Jabor looked over with some hesitation. There was a touch once again, on the other’s arm. They both sat there together in silence.

“You know I’ve never lied to you, right?”

“…Right.”

“Good. We need to clean up or at least cover up this mess before anyone comes home. I suggest we gather a few indian throw rugs, and all our problems will be solved.”

“I trust you.”

Neither one of them made any movement towards the door.


End file.
